Arachne
by Idday
Summary: How spiders came to be, otherwise known as that insolent little twit who thought she could beat me. The famous myth as retold by Athena.


**This story is meant to be a gift for someone, so any feedback (grammatical, contextual, etc.) is greatly appreciated as a way to improve this story.**

**Obviously, this story has been around for thousands of years and I did not write it. I merely interpreted it.**

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Hello, I'm sure you've heard of me.

My name is Athena and I control… well, wisdom, warfare, domestic arts, a city… so, yeah. I'm a big deal.

Most mortals, being mortal, and not, oh, say, a GODDESS, respect that whole Goddess thing. Most mortals make their pretty little sacrifices, pray a little, and move on their merry way. I get my honor, they get their… well, whatever it is they were praying for (usually). Both parties are happy, and the world moves on.

Every now and then, though, one little mortal (usually a girl… I don't know quite how that works, but I guess they're usually better at the whole drama thing) gets a big idea, and in return, they get a big problem.

Now, I am nothing if not fair. Take Hera, for example. My dear stepmother (and aunt, one could say that my family tree is a bit… skewed) would stop at nothing to drive a mortal out of their wits if they did something to piss her off, and more often than not, that's not even the mortal's fault. Because, as much as I love my stepmother, she has a bit of a jealousy issue, and she's not a huge fan of the whole Zeus-runs-off-and-impregnates-every-female-he-can-find thing, and instead of actually putting the blame where it should probably fall, on Zeus, Hera prefers to simply hunt down the unfortunate girl and her holy offspring and… well, she drove Io all the way to Egypt, she made Hercules slaughter his family, she made Leto give birth with no midwife (needless to say, Hera still doesn't get along very well with Leto's twins, Artemis and Apollo)… You get the picture. Not pretty.

And speaking of Artemis, she's so gung ho about the whole virginity thing that she turns the poor girls who get pregnant into wild animals. She killed a man once for accidentally seeing her naked. But, I digress.

So. Fair? I like to think so. The man who saw me naked by accident is only blind. And psychic (which I thought was pretty clever, exchanging sight for foresight, but I'm not the goddess of wisdom for nothing). Plus, I wouldn't turn anyone into a wild animal. Except for that once, and that was totally an act of mercy. Don't believe me? Perhaps I should start at the beginning…

Once upon a time (give or take a couple of millennia), when my family and I were still sitting pretty on Olympus, a mortal got a bright idea.

To be fair (see—I'm fair), it wasn't actually her idea. She didn't, however, try to stop the bright idea, so I had no choice but to put her back into place.

This particular mortal's name was Arachne, and the girl could weave.

Her tapestries were beautiful, but even more impressive than that, it was said that the very act of her weaving was so beautiful that the nymphs crawled out of the woods to watch her work.

Now this ticked several people off, most of them immortal, so the girl was already in a world of trouble. Artemis and Apollo were angry that the nymphs weren't at their beck and call anymore, and Zeus, not to mention Pan, wasn't so happy that his favorite playthings were too busy watching some mortal weave to be seduced.

You'll notice I forgot someone (me).

Actually, I didn't forget anyone. I wasn't angry. Not then.

Like I said, the girl had skill, and she seemed sweet enough. As the patron goddess of weaving (did I mention that I'm the patron goddess of weaving?), I wouldn't be much of a mentor if I didn't recognize talent. And Arachne had talent, by the bowl full.

To be honest, I never really paid much attention to the girl until the whispers started. Ossa, the Goddess of gossip, was the one who was spreading the rumors, as per usual. Usually, I have better things to do than pay attention to those silly little rumors flying around, but this time, I should have paid better attention.

"They say she approaches the skill of Pallas Athena herself!" Ossa whispered. "Her tapestries are comparable to those of the great goddess!"

Now before we go any farther, it would probably be beneficial to introduce you to a little something called hubris. Hubris is basically comparing yourself to a God. "I'm better than so-and-so, I'm prettier than so-and-so, blah, blah, blah." Some Gods take it better than others, but more often than not, hubris is a one way ticket to pain, maiming, insanity, and death. Barrel of laughs, right?

Arachne may not have been living in hubris-land (she apparently hadn't boasted of her own talents, plus, she was only comparable to me, not better), but she was getting awfully close. I seriously debated paying her a friendly visit, but as it turned out, I was busy that week. Hey, Athens doesn't run itself.

So, anyway, I had nearly forgotten about the girl when Ossa came back for Arachne, round 2.

"The like of her tapestries have never been seen on earth or Olympus! Her work surpasses that of Athena herself!" Ossa wasn't exactly whispering anymore. She delights in nothing more that causing a good, juicy scandal, especially one that ends in painful maiming or death.

Now THIS made me a little angry. I'm not bad with a loom myself (I'm not Goddess of weaving for nothing), and I was pretty sure that this uppity little twit couldn't beat me at anything, no matter how talented she was.

Then and there, I decided to pay Arachne that visit. I didn't care how much Athens needed me (what's a couple hundred deaths, in the scheme of things?); I was going to have a chat with my protégé.

Now it's not like I was going to pop up in front of her loom in all my glory and be like "hi, you've pissed me off, and you should probably stop." As fun as that might have been, I didn't want to scare the poor girl. Too badly. Plus, I wanted to give her one last chance (that whole fair thing again).

So I dressed up as an old woman and went off to set a girl on a path that wouldn't end in her untimely death.

She was weaving (surprise, surprise) in her courtyard when I got there, surrounded by entranced nymphs. They were right, she was good. Almost as good as me. But better? Ha. No. Either way, it provided me an opening.

Arachne, as it turned out, was a pretty girl. Not to say she had something on Aphrodite or me, but still, you could look at her without crying or anything like that. She had black hair, and intense grey eyes (another similarity to myself). At that particular moment, those eyes were focused on her tapestry, which seemed to be a picture of that Adonis brat that Aphrodite fell in love with. Like I said, it was good. It actually looked better than Adonis had in life (but I suppose I'm not the best judge of that, I've never particularly liked blonds. Or men. I guess that's why I'm a virgin Goddess…). Anyway, I cleared my throat, and put on my creaky old lady voice.

"What a pretty picture, dear! The Gods must have blessed you with talent."

The whole pretty thing? Yeah, that flew out the window when she opened her mouth. Then I just wanted to punch the brat in her perky little nose. Or throw her to the Hydra. Or kill her. Slowly. And painfully. But I'm getting ahead of myself…

"I get my talent from no one but myself. The Gods have nothing to do with it," she proclaimed in her perky little voice. Perhaps I could just chop her hands off and be done with it…

"The Gods rule everything. Every living creature, every living mortal. It is not wise to deny their role in the world."

Arachne scoffed at my sound advice. Even though she didn't know I was a Goddess, you'd think she would be more respectful of her elders.

"Some say that I must have been taught by Athena herself, but I think that's a terribly insulting notion."

Perhaps she wasn't so bad after all… it was rather insulting to think I'd waste my time teaching this insignificant little brat how to weave when I obviously had more important things to do…

"I could best even the Goddess of weaving herself in a contest. It is insulting to think that I would be taught by someone I could beat."

Never mind. She was that bad. And that stupid… I've never taken well to stupid people. I think that's the reason that Aphrodite and I don't get along very well: she's pretty, but really dumb. Anyway, I decided to give her one more chance. I think I'm really outdoing myself on the whole fairness thing.

"Boasting to the Gods is terribly unwise, child. They have more power than we can comprehend. You should not brag about beating a Goddess in anything."

"Why not?" She tossed her head. I thought about how satisfying it would be to rip that shiny hair out by its roots… "I could beat her. And if I were to lose, but some strange token, I would gladly take whatever punishment the mighty Athena would deem necessary." How easily she mocked me.

That was all I could take. So I revealed myself to her. I have to admit, the look of pure astonishment on her face almost made the whole trip worthwhile. I'm no Aphrodite, but I am pretty stunning when I get all dolled up, if I do say so myself.

The nymphs (not the smartest creature in the woods, but wise enough to recognize a Goddess) shrank back in fear, and I think Arachne would have too, if she wasn't frozen stiff.

She thawed soon enough, and became haughty again. "I meant what I said. I'm the best weaver in the world and in the heavens, and I could best even you."

"As you wish," I said coolly, and with a wave of my hand, two empty looms appeared in the courtyard, in the shadow of the large tree that grew there. I have to say, considering how much I wanted to poke out her eye with her own shuttle, I was fairly proud of my composure.

And so, the contest of the century commenced. Well, perhaps it wasn't the contest of the century, but it was still a pretty big deal. As I'm sure I mentioned, the girl was killer with a loom. Almost as good as me. But that's the point now, isn't it?

On my tapestry, I depicted one of my greatest triumphs. You see, before I ruled Athens, I had to earn it. My dear Uncle Poseidon and I have always had our differences, so of course as soon as I decided I wanted Athens for myself, he wanted it too. Zeus, not wanting to anger brother or daughter, declared that the countrymen would choose for themselves, and bade us give them a gift so they could choose. So, my Uncle? Fair hand with the killer whirlpools and the monster tsunamis. Not so good with the whole planning ahead thing. He decided that, since he was the God of water, he would really branch out. Down went the trident, up came the spring. Of saltwater. Good job, Poseidon. Lovely idea, in theory, really, but salt water doesn't do much good in the droughts for the people or the plants: it tends to kill them both.

I, on the other hand, in all my infinite wisdom, gave them a multifaceted and highly useful gift: the olive tree. Food, wood, shade, oil… practically a magic tree. So… useless saltwater spring or genius tree of life? I won. Good thing, too, Athens rolls off the tongue better than Poseidonia.

Anyway, this tapestry served a double meaning. It was my best work, if I do say so myself. The saltwater spring glistened, the mortal crowd stood off to the side appreciatively, and I even captured the furious look on my uncle's face. I also depicted me, of course, coming in all my benevolent glory to save the city and make it a beacon of prosperity. It was an excellent likeness.

But besides the whole winning-the-contest goal, the scene depicted the Gods in their glory, and I myself at one of my greatest moments of wisdom and compassion to humanity. It was meant to serve a slight little reminder that I can make things happen when I wish. I was sort of hoping she would beg forgiveness and I would be the bigger immortal and forgive her and the whole thing would be over. I would have forgiven her. Probably. If she groveled enough…

Anyway, Arachne must have been even thicker that I initially thought, because the warning flew right over her little head.

Her tapestry made the whole thing even more offensive than it had been originally, if such a thing were possible. If there's one thing you should know about the Gods, it's the fact that you don't insult the family. Insult us, and we'll kill you. Insult the family, and we'll drive you to a fate worse than death.

But as you probably know by now, Arachne was severely lacking in the respect department (and the brains department). In her work, she chose to show my slightly dysfunctional family in a harsh light: the infidelities of Zeus.

Leda was there, being consorted by a swan. She wouldn't sleep with him in his human form, being married, but apparently white wings turned her on. Like I said, not exactly an expert in the relationship department. Anyway, Zeus appeared to her in the form of a white swan, seduced her, and (surprise, surprise) nine months later, four little bundles of joy were born: Helen (famously of Troy, but actually of Sparta, who caused the biggest war in history and killed thousands of men), Castor, Polyduces (otherwise known as Pollux), who were demi-Gods (and killed a bunch of people), and Clytemnestra (she murdered her husband). A bunch of really stand up kids.

Europa was there too, riding the bull. She was a beautiful girl, who also wouldn't sleep with Zeus, so he appeared to her in the form of a tame white bull, convinced her to climb on his back, and then swam away to an island. THEN he seduced her. They had a bunch of kids too, most of whom also turned out to be absolute idiots (if you think I'm bad, never piss off Poseidon).

Danaё was there, and Zeus was a shower of gold. Danaё was a beautiful princess who was forbidden to procreate by her father, so he pulled the tower card. Note to fathers: if the King of the Gods wants your daughter, you can't do much to stop him. Needless to say, nine months later… actually, as Zeus' offspring go, Perseus was a good kid.

Io was the last woman there. Like I said, Hera drove her all the way to Egypt, but only after Zeus turned her into a cow so Hera wouldn't find out about their forbidden tryst. Didn't actually work so well, but nothing says love better than turning your lover into a cow… Or so I'm told.

Even I can admit that the tapestry was beautiful, flawless even. Not quite as good as mine, but, hello? Goddess of weaving? The figures seemed lifelike and she hadn't missed a stitch. I might have even forgiven her (like I said, I can appreciate raw talent) if the subject matter hadn't been so personally offensive.

But it was, and after the day I'd had, her tapestry was the metaphorical straw that broke the metaphorical camel's back. So I did what any highly rational girl would do under the circumstances: I threw a tantrum.

I seized her tapestry, ripped it to shreds, and hurled the loom across the courtyard, where it splintered with a deafening crash. Then I rounded on the girl.

Arachne looked terrified. She cowered against the wall, shielding herself with her spindly arms. Silly girl. If I had wanted to, I could have killed her then and there, arms or no.

I suppose it was that thought that finally brought me to my senses, and a good thing too because I might very well have killed her. She did have a talent for pushing my buttons…

As the case was, though, I decided that this may have been one of the rare instances where death was not a good option. Perhaps if she simply realized her error… I did feel reluctant to kill such a young girl with so much potential.

So I touched her forehead, and in an instant, her eyes changed. I could tell that she felt remorse for her actions. Still maybe it wouldn't hurt to leave her without hands…

Before I could tempt myself further, I left. Honestly, all I wanted was sleep. It had been a long day. Before I could take my much needed rest, though, Ossa interrupted me again.

"She hung herself from the tree in her courtyard. They say she couldn't take the shame of angering such a beloved mentor, and hung herself in guilt."

I highly doubted that Arachne would have ever described me as a "beloved mentor." Still, I had explicitly decided not to kill her, and the fact that she took her own life made me sad. And more than a little pissed off. That decision was MINE to make, not hers.

It there's another thing you should know about the Gods, it's that we really try to stay out of each other's way. We all have our own sphere, and with very few exceptions, we stay in it (I found Aphrodite trying to weave once and nearly hurt myself laughing. Needless to say, since then she's stuck with sitting around, looking good, and sleeping with anyone besides her husband).

The realm of death, for example, belongs to my Uncle Hades. So once Arachne decided to be even stupider than normal and jump off a tree with a rope around her neck, there wasn't really much I could do for her: technically, my Uncle could do whatever he wanted with her.

But as any good student of law knows (Athens is famous for its law courts), there is a loophole in every rule. I couldn't do anything for Arachne as she was, or bring her back to life, but I could _change_ her.

So I went back to the familiar house.

I really hate death. It's _gross_. I don't know how my uncle lives with it every day. Anyway, I steeled myself and entered the courtyard.

She was there, all right, but I won't go into too much detail. There is no reason to remark on the way she sort of hung there, still swinging…

Moving on.

Seeing her body, I stopped feeling angry and started feeling sad. All the poor girl ever wanted to do was weave…

And inspiration struck me, like one of Zeus' lightning bolts. Sometimes, I astound even myself.

Arachne, or rather, her descendents, still live today. They will weave (and hang) for eternity, known forever as Arachnids. And people will always hate them. But that last part's just a bonus.


End file.
